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There was no reason for Isabel to tell John about her marriage… other than she had to know if he'd look down on her for it, if he'd find her unappealing. She'd been fast denying the feelings for him that had been blooming inside her since he'd almost kissed her at Rigby Glen. She'd wanted him to. She wanted him to now.
But he had to know who she was.
A lot of men were put off by divorced women. Not that she'd told a lot of men. In fact, John was only the second person she had told, Duster being the first, in that long night spent at the Blossom's kitchen table.
"Where's your husband?" John eventually asked.
It was a logical question. "I don't know. Down in San Diego, last I heard. He could be anywhere."
"You're still married to him?"
"No. I divorced him on the grounds of abandonment." She nervously plucked at the fringe on the colorful blanket "I had every right to… but that doesn't change the fact that I'm a divorcee."
She waited for his disdain to show—his cool reception, the silent distance he would put between them. Rather than reacting the way she expected, he asked another question.
"How'd you meet him?"
Isabel looked at her lap, then out the tent's opening to watch the rain fall in little beads that bounced off the meadow. "I was an operator for the City of Angels Telephone Company. He would call the same numbers daily and I happened to get him most of the time. After a week, he began asking for me to connect him. I fell in love with his voice before we ever met." That last part she probably shouldn't have said, but it was true.
"The marriage wasn't any good from the start. Those calls he made were to bookkeepers—and I don't mean the legal kind. He wasn't reliable… only I was too blind to see it at the time. We barely lasted a year. Then after he was gone for two, I filed for the divorce." Meeting John's eyes, she shrugged. "And that's all."
Again, the disapproval never came, no condeming eyes. Maybe she'd been hoping to scare him off, unable to face the facts: She was more than a little attracted to him. She enjoyed his strength and take-charge air. It was nice having a man do things for her, like when he'd watered her trees. She'd never had that before. Her husband had been quite self-centered. Money, the lack of it, had been the root of their problems. She'd always wondered if they would have stayed married if they hadn't been so broke.
"Well… ?" She could stand the quiet no longer. "Aren't you going to tell me I'm a ruined woman?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I've been married before myself." His eyes darkened with distant memories. "So many times, I've lost track."
She hadn't been prepared for such a confession. Her pulse betrayed her and skipped several beats as she fought dismay. One marriage was bad enough—but numerous?
"Bartenders have married me to dozens of women, but come morning, I was single again." He ran a hand through his damp hair and gave her a slight grin that sent her heartbeat leaping. "None of my so-called marriages were legal. If a keep had been a bona fide minister, though, I would have been." Then his features went serious; the set of his mouth fell in a line and his brows leveled. "Mistakes happen, Isabel. It's not for me to judge."
"Then you don't care?"
"I care that you were left by your husband, and I wonder if you'll ever get over the hurt. Aside from that, your status doesn't mean squat to me. You're still Isabel. The woman I…" His words trailed off as if he'd meant to say more.
She'd hoped to hear more. But it wasn't to be. The tent's roof sprang a leak and a steady drip tattooed the floor.
John scrambled to his feet. "Hand me that slicker out of my pack," he said as he went outside. She quickly found the coat and gave it to him. With a few flicks of his wrists, he stretched the garment over the tent's top and came back inside.
Water dripped from the ends of his hair. He hadn't worn his hat—not that it would have mattered. His face didn't appear so hard and chiseled in the afternoon's cloud
y light. He almost looked… boyish to her. She gave him a smile. He returned one of his own that made her feel disarmed and… pretty.
"We should get a fire going. I'll go see if I can find some wood dry enough to light."
"And I'll stick the coffeepot out in the rain for some water."
"Naw. You'll be holding your arm out to Christmas to get enough for a pot. Give me that and I'll fill it from the creek. I suspect it's chased us up here. I've seen a flash flood carry automobile-sized boulders then wash them downstream until they snag on an outcrop of granite."
"Really? Are we camped high enough?"
"We'll soon find out."
Then he went off and Isabel set out the lunch she'd brought. When she'd done all she could to make the shelter comfortable, she listened for every sound that could be from John. All she heard was the occasional nicker from the horses and the spatter of rain against the side of the tent.
